For Love Alone (17 page)

After greetings were exchanged, Ives immediately brought up the subject of the Allenton house party. “I wondered,” he began carefully, “if you had made up your mind about the Allentons' invitation?”

“Why?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing. “Why do you care whether or not I have decided to attend their party?”

Normally he would have handled her more carefully, but the late nights he was keeping, not to mention the heavy drinking and the urgent need to keep her as far away from that sordid part of his life as possible, made him clumsy.

Ives smiled, a smile that made her bones feel like sun-warmed honey, and promptly shot himself in the foot as he said, “Because, sweetheart, I do not think that it is the type of party you would enjoy. It would not be wise for you to attend.”

Sophy gasped with outrage. He was telling her what to do! The utter gall of the man. It was perfectly acceptable for
him
to attend the wretched affair, but he had the audacity to tell her that she should not. How dare he!

“And you are a fool if you think that you can dictate to me where I should go! You have overstepped yourself, my lord. What I do is none of your affair, and I would remind you to remember that in the future,” she said icily, her lovely eyes brilliant.

Cursing himself for taking his fences too fast, Ives groaned. Damn and blast! There would be no stopping her now, and it was his own bloody fault. Trying to undo the damage, he murmured, “You mistake my intention, Lady Marlowe. I only thought to warn you that the party may not be what you are used to.”

Sophy's lip curled. “I think
you
forget, my lord, that I was once married to one of the most debauched men in England. Believe me, there is nothing that will happen at the Allentons' house party that will surprise me. Nothing will occur that I have not seen previously.”

“Then you are determined to accept the invitation?” he asked grimly.

“You may lay money on it!” Sophy retorted with great relish.

T
he weather for the Allenton house party was particularly fine. The sun was warm and golden, the sky a soft spring blue, and the air fragrant with the scent of roses and lilacs. Staring glumly out of the windows of her room at the Allenton estate of Crestview, Sophy was not consoled by either the charming setting or the wonderful May day.

She had been, and she was the first to admit it, a fool for having allowed her temper to rule her. And she had no one but herself to blame for the predicament in which she found herself.

Having met most of the guests the previous night when she arrived from London at the Allenton home in Surrey, it was appallingly clear that the house party was going to be every bit as vulgar and debauched as she had feared. Worse was the news confirming that Edward would definitely be in attendance. But far worse than that, it was obvious from his actions last evening that Ives Harrington was not the man she had first thought him; he was, it appeared, every bit as lewdly inclined as Simon had been.

There was an unhappy droop to Sophy's mouth as she stared out of the window of her second-floor room. She thought that she had begun to know Ives Harrington, but recalling his conduct last night her spirits sank. He had been right in the thick of it all, laughing coarsely and drinking wildly, his boon companions Grimshaw and a military man named Meade. Even more depressing, she had actually caught him ogling and pinching the bottom of one of the pretty housemaids. She sighed heavily. She had no doubt that the same housemaid had shared his bed last night.

The idea of leaving crossed her mind more than once. Many of the guests were old friends of Simon's, and they were definitely not the sort of people she wished to become reacquainted with. A shudder went through her.

Last night's raucous activities were a clear indication that events were not going to improve. The mere fact that Edward, Grimshaw, and all the others from Simon's past were in attendance only confirmed her dismal opinion. She was in danger. By being in this very house, she was leaving herself open to the advances of men she detested and she was bitterly aware that she ran the risk of finding herself in a very precarious position. Crestview, this particular weekend, was no place for anyone who wished to hang on to even a shred of virtue. She should leave. Now. There was nothing here for her. Except Ives.

A pang went through her and she wondered bleakly when he had come to mean so much to her. She could pretend no longer that the only emotions she experienced in his company were irritation and annoyance. She cared for him. Damn him!

She did not know how it happened or when he had gone from amusing irritant to someone whose very presence was vital to her happiness, but it had happened. By infinitesimal degrees he had breached her defenses and deftly insinuated himself into her heart. Her problem now was how to get him out of that vulnerable space before he did more damage.

Sophy frowned. The only way that she saw to accomplish her goal was to grasp the nettle and bear the sting. She would have to see him at his worst and let disgust and contempt fill her heart in place of the softer emotion that had come to dominate it. And the one sure way of doing that, she conceded grimly, was to remain at Crestview.

 

Waking with an aching head and a mouth that felt like the floor of a henhouse, Ives was wishing violently that he was anywhere but at Crestview. The look of hurt and shock on Sophy's face when she had caught him fondling the housemaid had been one of the lowest moments of his life. It was bad enough that she saw him cavorting familiarly with men he freely stigmatized as scoundrels and blackguards, but to observe him acting like a damn-all rake of the worst kind . . .

The expression on her lovely face, the disbelief and bleak disappointment that had flashed across her features had been like a knife blade in his heart. And there was not one damn thing he could do about it! Not unless he wanted to undo everything he had done so far and frighten off his quarry.

The Fox was near, Ives could swear to it. There was no doubt in his mind that he was probably already on very good terms with his quarry. More importantly, events seemed to be moving in the direction he wanted.

Last night, appearing far more drunk than he actually had been, he had played hand after hand of whist with Grimshaw, Meade, and Coleman. Marquette, Dewhurst, and a few others had been looking on, and to his intense satisfaction, the subject of the planted memorandum had been mentioned.

It had been Meade, of course, who brought it up. He had been completely foxed and could not help bragging a little about what he knew. Marquette—or had it been Dewhurst?—had made some comment about the progress of Wellesley's troops on the Peninsula, and Meade could not help referring to a very important memorandum that had just crossed his desk that very day.

When pressed by Grimshaw and Coleman and the others to reveal its contents, he had grown sly and, beyond throwing out tantalizing hints, had revealed little. Ives was certain the Fox had been present and his quarry now knew that a very important document existed and that his tool, Meade, could lay his hands on it. The question remained: Would he take the bait?

Ashby entered the room just then with a silver tray containing a tall, lidded pot, various condiments, and china and utensils. Watching blearily as his manservant placed the tray on a nearby table, Ives asked, “Tell me that you have brought me very black, very hot coffee and a great deal of it.”

Ashby grinned. “Deep doings last night, were there, my lord?” Ives sat up and promptly groaned as his head exploded into a thousand shards of plain. “Indeed there were. Too deep for me, I am afraid. Many more nights of this sort of activity, and I shall be a withered old man before my time.” He glanced at Ashby. “Anything interesting to report?”

Ashby shook his head. “No, except that this is a curst rum household, I can tell you. Too many young and pretty female servants about and most of them gigglers with greased heels, if you catch my meaning. As for William and John, they have discovered nothing either, other than there is some mighty fine horseflesh driven by your friends.”

Taking the cup of coffee Ashby handed him, Ives took a wary sip. It was bloody-damn hot and strong enough to melt teeth—just the way he liked it on a morning like today.

Several cups later, Ives felt enough in control of himself to attempt to rise and dress. The room spun, and for one awful moment he thought he would lose the contents of his stomach. But the room finally slowed and he was able cautiously to wash and groom himself.

Garbed for the day and feeling a trifle more in control of himself, he said, “There is something the three of you can do for me. Keep your eye on Meade, but keep an eye on Lady Marlowe, too.” His mouth twisted. “I can offer her little protection since I shall be involved with Meade. None of the gentlemen here seem above forcing their attentions on anything female, and a few of them would not stop at rape. I do not want her in any danger.”

Ashby nodded, his face somber. “I see you had your room changed. Is Lady Marlowe next door?”

Ives started to nod, but then thought better of it. “Yes. Lady Allenton simpered and looked arch when I requested the change, but she made no comment.”

“What are you going to do today?” Ashby asked as he gathered up things and prepared to leave the room.

“I would like to hide out and nurse my head, but I am afraid that option is not open to me. Fortunately, I doubt that many of the guests will be up and about until late in the afternoon, so I may be able to please myself for much of the day.”

Ives looked thoughtful. “I shall probably try to redeem myself somewhat with the lady, but I suspect that endeavor will end in futility. And this evening when she sees me acting as depraved and salacious as Grimshaw and the others, all my efforts will be for naught.” His expression was grim as he finished speaking.

 

Ives's observations proved correct. Most of the guests did sleep the day away, and his plans to ingratiate himself into Sophy's good graces came to naught. Unlike nearly everyone else, she was certainly up and about, but she had nothing for him but stiff replies. The contemptuous glances she flashed him from those great golden eyes of hers sent his heart right down to the bottom of his highly polished Hessians. He went up to change for dinner in a thoroughly foul mood.

Despite her cool reception to his overtures, Sophy felt herself half-hoping she had been mistaken in him. Perhaps last night had been an aberration? She made a face in the mirror as she watched her maid arrange the masses of golden hair in a charming knot of curls on the top of her head. Was she so desperate to believe well of him, she wondered, that she was now willing utterly to delude herself? She snorted. Suddenly disgusted with herself for being such a weak-willed ninny, she determined to take action.

Unhappily she faced the fact that the man who had charmed her and broken down her defenses had been merely playing a role in order to slip beneath her guard and that his true character had only recently been revealed. Her mouth tightened. Well, she wasn't going to waste any more heartache on Ives Harrington, she decided fiercely. She would endure tonight, but in the morning she was leaving for London.

And she was retreating to the relative safety of her room immediately following dinner. And locking the door.

To Sophy's surprise the evening meal was almost pleasant. She was spared Edward's presence; a coaching accident detained him, and he arrived too late to join them for dinner. The food was excellent and the service exemplary. That Henry Dewhurst was seated on one side of her, and Ives on the opposite side of the long table and as far away as possible, helped enormously to make the meal enjoyable. At least until Henry mentioned Ives's name.

The sweet course had just been served, and Dewhurst, his gaze resting thoughtfully on Ives, murmured, “I am amazed at the change in Harrington these days, aren't you?” Dewhurst laughed slightly. “Lately, he has become as wild a rake and compulsive a gambler as dear Simon once was, don't you think?”

The strawberry tartlet she had been eating turned to mud in her mouth, and Sophy replied stiffly, “I am afraid that Lord Harrington's activities do not interest me.”

Henry cocked a brow. “No? Then why are you here? This is not your sort of affair either, my sweet.”

Sophy shot him a miserable glance. “Is it that obvious?”

His blue eyes were kind as they rested on her face, and beneath the table he gave her hand a comforting squeeze. “Only to someone who has known you a long time. It is apparent that
something
brought you here, and since it was not myself, I didn't have to look very far for my rival.”

She managed a smile. “You needn't worry that I have lost my heart to him. I am only here because I was foolish enough to let my temper goad me into reckless action. I intend to leave in the morning.”

Henry nodded. “Which news makes me happy.” He sent her a chiding look. “You
really
should not be here. It is going to be a wild romp, unless I miss my guess.”

A teasing gleam suddenly lit Sophy's eyes. “This from you? How many times did I preside over just such an affair as Simon's wife?”

“Too many, my dear, far too many,” he returned, and began to talk of other things. But Etienne Marquette, who was to her left and had been discreetly listening to her conversation with Henry, said softly, “What Henri says is true. This Harrington seemed such a dull, plodding sort of fellow when first we met, but now!
Mon Dieu!
I certainly never thought to see him at an affair like this.” His black eyes glittering with a slyness she had never noted before, he murmured, “It is like watching a leopard change his spots,
non?”

He glanced down the long table in Ives's direction. “I wonder,” he speculated, “which is the real Viscount Harrington. The dullard? Or the rake?”

Since Sophy had no answer for him, she was very glad when Lady Allenton signaled that the ladies were to leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars and follow her into one of the large saloons for coffee. Sophy planned to drink one cup of coffee, then politely take her leave, but an interruption put that thought from her mind.

The ladies had just been served when the butler entered the room, and announced, “Miss Weatherby, madam.”

To Sophy's astonishment, in sailed Agnes Weatherby, her gown a dashing confection of rose silk and lace, the bodice cut daringly low, revealing an impressive amount of soft, white flesh. It was apparent from the way the two women greeted each other that she was expected and on good terms with Lady Allenton.

“My dear Agnes, I am so sorry that you arrived too late to join us for dinner. Did the servants see to your needs?”